


Dance Me Away (into a dream)

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Beach Divorce, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the beach, Charles already knows he's lost Erik. A final dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Me Away (into a dream)

Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow they face Shaw for the last time, for better or for worse. There will be no do-over, no rematch. Charles knows that tomorrow it will end. 

His chest hurts to think of it. It feels like he hasn’t been able to breathe all day. Tomorrow, their fight against Shaw will end, yes, but his relationship with Erik will end too. Charles isn’t nearly as blind as Erik believes; he knows that as much as Erik enjoys the companionship and a warm body in bed, there are a dozen things Erik prioritizes above Charles. Shaw is one of them, and after Shaw, it will be their conflicting ideologies, and after that something else, until everything they have drives them apart. Charles knows it and doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know if it _can_ be fixed. After all, everyone leaves. His father, his mother, even Kurt and Cain. It isn’t a matter of _if_ , it’s a matter of _when,_ and Charles knows—with the intuition of someone who has been left behind more times than can be counted—that tomorrow is the end. 

He won’t try to make Erik stay. No, he would never meddle in anyone’s mind like that, let alone Erik’s. He respects and loves the man too much for that, even if it’s more unrequited than he’d like to admit. No, what he’ll do is take this time they have and cherish it before it’s over. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

He walks quietly from his room over to the study, where he can feel Erik’s mind racing along restlessly. Erik is full of impatience and anticipation, bursting for this to be over. He is so eager that it hurts because he can’t see what Charles can, that tomorrow, they will go their separate ways and these perfect weeks will be memories. Erik narrows all his attention onto one goal and forgets everything else; it’s what makes him a lethal predator, a perfect avenger. There’s no need to peek into Erik’s mind to know that Charles doesn’t feature in a single one of his thoughts. 

Charles performs a quick check of the house, just to make sure everything is in order. Raven and the others are already in their rooms, too full of excitement and nervousness to sleep but quiet nonetheless. Moira is downstairs in the living room, going over their plans one more time. She thinks it never hurts to triple-check, and Charles can tell that she’ll be down there for at least another hour. 

He shuts away his telepathy—he won’t look in Erik’s mind tonight, he’d rather preserve the illusion of _them_ —and opens the door to the study. 

Erik is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even look up as Charles enters. The chess set is where it always is, but tonight, it is untouched. Charles ignores it as he walks past the softly crackling fire to where Erik is sitting on the couch, his eyes far away. That silver coin of his is lazily circling his fingers, a habit of Erik’s. Charles watches it for a moment before plucking it out of the air. 

That’s enough to break Erik’s concentration. He blinks and looks up, seeming almost surprised to see Charles there.

Charles doesn’t say a word. He just slides the coin into his pocket and holds out his hand, a silent offer. Erik stares at it for a moment before taking it, uncomprehending.

“Come on,” Charles says, pulling him up off the couch. Before Erik can even formulate a question in his mind, Charles is already settling in his personal space, head tucked just beside Erik’s cheek, right hand tangling with Erik’s. 

“Charles, what…” 

“Let’s dance.” 

Erik remains stiff and confused. Charles tugs him along into an awkward shuffle, letting a short melody run through his head. He starts to hum it softly, and after a moment, Erik relaxes somewhat into their movements, back and forth across the study. Charles hums until the notes get too high for his voice and then he projects the tune just loudly enough for Erik to hear it too. It’s a slow song but one Charles knows well; it’s one of the only bright points in his childhood at Westchester. Erik doesn’t know how much of Charles he’s seeing, Charles muses. This is a song he has never taught anyone, not even Raven. For the longest time, it only existed in his own mind. 

“What is this?” Erik asks as they sway to the slow beat. 

Charles closes his eyes and rests his forehead gently against Erik’s shoulder. “My mother used to sing it to me,” he says quietly, keeping the music going in both of their minds. “When I was very little.” 

Erik is silent for a minute. Then his hand tightens minutely around Charles’s, and he says, “She must have been a wonderful woman. It’s a nice song.” 

“Yes,” Charles lies easily. “She was.” And it’s not a lie, not completely. Sharon Xavier _was_ a wonderful woman. Before her husband died, that was. Before the drink. 

The music pulls to a close, but Charles doesn’t want it to end yet—he doesn’t ever want it to end—so he loops it around again and lets Erik guide them around the room. They skirt around the desk, around the chess board, past the bookshelves. Charles keeps his head on Erik’s shoulder, wishing this moment could last forever, wanting nothing more than to dance their lives away. 

“Charles,” Erik says finally, reluctance in his voice. He pauses, and Charles nearly trips over his feet. 

“Another minute,” Charles answers softly, opening his eyes. _Just a little longer._

Erik gives him an inscrutable look, and Charles doesn’t even reach for his telepathy. He wants nothing to do with certainties tonight. They seem to be fine, Erik seems to love him enough, and that’s what Charles wants to believe. He doesn’t want to know otherwise. 

“All right,” Erik says, and they dance their way around the study again. It is perfect, the fire, the sweet old song, the darkness that seems to press them both closer together. Charles can’t breathe past the ache in his chest, but he doesn’t let go of Erik, not even when it gets a little hot and uncomfortable. If he lets go, it will be over, and he can’t bear that. Anything but that. 

Erik looks down at him, his expression puzzled. “Are you all right?”

Charles clears his throat. “What?”

“You’re projecting. I think.” Erik’s brow furrows. “You’re not happy.” 

Embarrassed, Charles shuts off his mind with practiced efficiency. “Sorry. It’s nothing.” 

“If it’s Shaw you’re worried about,” Erik persists, “it’ll be fine.” 

“Yes,” Charles says, though he knows it will be anything but. He already knows what Erik is planning for tomorrow, already knows that there is no way Shaw will go into CIA custody, not if Erik has anything to say about it. He also knows that their respective views on humankind are incompatible and that Erik would sooner chew off his arm than relinquish his opinions. As a survivor of the Holocaust and a witness to how much a man has to lose, Erik values his own thoughts above all else because they are the only things that can’t be taken. Little naïve Charles with all his wealth and optimism isn’t going to change that. Little naïve Charles won’t be able to change a thing, and tomorrow…tomorrow…

Suddenly, he can’t do it anymore. He can’t stand there and love Erik for all he’s worth, knowing that it is all slipping away from him faster than he can keep it together. Jerking them to an abrupt stop, he lets go of Erik’s hand and steps away, ignoring how he already misses Erik’s warmth. 

“We should get some sleep,” he says quietly, studying the fire instead of Erik’s face. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day.” 

Erik looks confused at his sudden turn of mood. “Yes,” he replies slowly. “But we still have time. It’s only eleven.” 

Charles knows what he’s suggesting. One final romp in the bed, one final memory. But he can’t. One more night will only make him want for more, and that will make it harder to let go. If there’s anything Charles wants right now, it’s a clean break. A clear end to it all.

On some level, he’s aware that this means that he’ll leave Erik instead of the other way around. Well, that’s fine. He’s a strong man himself; he is just as capable of leaving as anyone else. Let someone else be left behind this time. It won’t be him. 

“I’m tired,” he says. “I think I’ll turn in for the night.” 

He leaves quietly, without a fuss. If it’s supposed to feel better, being the one walking away for once, Charles doesn’t feel it. He just feels empty as he walks back to his room alone. 

He falls asleep to the memory of Erik’s arms around him as they danced across the study to his mother’s soft lullaby.


End file.
